In Soviet Russia
by Hazelstiltskin
Summary: "I should have known you had something else up your sleeve. It was far too good to be true when you took my hand in agreement. Go ahead, American. Make me laugh." [Oneshot; implied character death; semi-AU; not shipping]


**A/N: Hazel, here, in the middle of class literally like on the verge of being caught ohgodohgod I'm terrified but yes here read have this oneshot not a ship but angsty maybe idek if that's the right word ohgodohgod inspired by my dudefriend and written on a Virginian vacation dankeschon to sibling and also Espana for reading ohgod I'm terrified and this is a giant run-on sentence; here just sdfsaf /aBSCONDS- **

**NooffensetoanylovelyRussianreaders- **

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Ivan's eyes narrowed into fine slits of lavender.

Alfred's eyes were shadowed but did not fail to reciprocate this gesture in full.

Rain pattered down around them, the air rank with the scent of damp asphalt and smoke. A slow, deep inhale presented to Alfred a weak tang of gasoline.

The abandoned warehouse that had fostered the blunt of their battle was now a ghost of what it once was.

Smoke billowed from the charred remains in massive black plumes; sparse clusters of rubble still kindled a few weak infernos despite the negative influence poised by the downfall.

Alfred blinked some of the water from his eyes. He glanced down to his feet; crimson pooled on the concrete as water dripped from his limbs and clothes. His wounds stung severely; did Ivan's, as well? Alfred looked the other man over.

Ivan's coat was tattered, singed, torn. A deep gash on the side of his head oozed blood, caking a crusty red into his platinum hair, and a few gaping holes in his coat revealed wounds smarting a bright red.

But the man stood tall and proud, not showing a single hint of pain or weakness. Alfred could not judge how close he was to defeating Ivan. Alfred could not judge if he was going to be _able_ to defeat Ivan.

Ivan took a step back; he swung the bloodied item over his shoulder. "You fight well, American. It's been very amusing."

Alfred spit at Ivan. The bloodied saliva was easily sidestepped by the taller man.

"Your weapons proved stronger than that of _many_ other nations," Ivan continued, undeterred by the hostile gesture. "It's just that once these were combined with the strength and tactic of Mother Russia... _no one_ stood a chance." His face lit. "My boss and I wish to thank you for so kindly /lending/ us your firearms."

Alfred didn't reply. He felt sick to his stomach.

"But, you see, now there is a bit of a problem..." Ivan held the pipe up, presenting it to the rain. Crimson blood, the blood of his people and Alfred, the blood of _America_, streamed from the metal in many small rivulets. "I am going to have to kill you now." He began slowly rolling the item in his hands, shaking his head. "What else are you supposed do with that which has become useless? You get rid of it."

Ivan lowered the pipe, staring expectantly at Alfred. Alfred wished to offer no reply and held his tongue.

Ivan's face contorted into a glower, though as quickly as the look had come it had returned to that of patience. He drew himself face-to-face with Alfred.

Was Ivan going to attack again? Alfred lifted his chin threateningly, though he could not deny the fear that currently thundered in his chest.

Ivan chuckled softly as he leaned close to Alfred's ear. "You know very well that you do not have long to live. You are weak. I _will_ destroy you. Why not allow me to make it _quick, painless_?" He purred these words in an aim to sway the American. Alfred found this attempt disgusting.

He clenched his jaw, glaring furiously at the lax face of Ivan. _Because I am American._

Ivan once again took the silence as an insult, evidential in the twitch of his brow. While the action was subtle, Alfred could feel the patience offered to him was that of a storm dangerously close to breaking. "All it would take, _comrade_, is one..." Ivan poised the pipe as a bat, "single..." The man looked Alfred dead in the eyes. "swing."

He slowly, deliberately, arched the pipe before him, brushing it gently to the side of Alfred's head. "Once you're out of the way, Soviet Russia will rule the world and the war will be over. That sounds like nice plan, da?"

Alfred licked his lips and stared at Ivan with as much choler as he could muster.

"Hasn't your wish all along been to stop the bloodshed of your people?" Ivan's inquiry was spoken as though nothing more than an honest-hearted question.

The thrumming of rain was all that greeted the ears of the pair of nations.

Alfred was surprised with how Ivan was thus far managing to match Alfred's patience stride-for-stride. He felt a flash of fear that Ivan would to out-patience him as the man spoke again with an even tone. "You know, you are an odd one, America. You line up men like sheep to be killed as if expecting the slaughterer to eventually consent to your payment and relent in violence."

There was a beat of silence.

"But I, America, am the slaughterer, and I have an entire nation to feed with the blood of your sheep. I am not going to allow you to live."

A chilly gust of wind blew up debris from the skeleton of the warehouse. Scraps of paper and dirt danced past the pair of nations.

Ivan's face adopted a snarl as he drew back his weapon and abruptly swung it forward. With a sickening thud the pipe struck Alfred cleanly on the ribs.

Alfred tumbled to the ground, his hands shakily hovering to the site he had been struck. He wore a grimace as he rode out a coughing fit.

"American, why do you refuse to reply?" Ivan lifted a heel and planted it firmly against Alfred's ribcage. "Surely you, the most annoying and talkative of all of the nations, have something to say?" He hissed through grit teeth.

Alfred writhed in agony; he clawed at Ivan's ankle with blunt nails.

The struggle did not last.

Alfred wheezed heavily before flopping onto his back, struggling for air under the weight of Ivan. "F-Fine," He snapped. "Fine!"

Ivan removed his foot, staring almost eagerly down at Alfred.

Alfred took his time regaining his breath.

"'s not quite the best plan you've... come up with."

Ivan lifted a brow with the beginnings of annoyance. "And what is wrong with my plan, American?"

Rather than answer Ivan, Alfred opted to instead pursue the question itching at his conscience. "Why are you asking for permission? ... Y'know, to kill me?" He growled out every word slowly. "You didn't ask Canada, nor France or Britain-" Alfred's throat tightened, choking the end of his sentence. He hung his head slightly.

Ivan's eyes flickered contemplatively. He finally 'hmm'ed and shot Alfred a scolding look. "I am asking you out of respect. Easy."

Alfred barked with laughter. "Respect? You actually claim have _respect_ for me and all of the people you slaughtered? Ha!" Alfred's voice grew into a snarl, dripping with bitterness. "I didn't know you had a funny bone in your body, bastard."

Ivan's brow set. Alfred lifted his hands defensively over his head as Ivan's knuckles grew white around his pipe, though the taller nation made no offensive move. "I am no monster. I show respect, but only to those who earn it from me."

Alfred's temper flared. "You have the decency to say you _aren't a monster_-?!"

"Canada, France, and Britain fought my invasion. As did Austria, Germany, Switzerland..." Ivan waved a hand dismissively and smiled. "Is a very long list, as I am sure you are aware.

"These nations all fought, but it only took a matter of months to conquer them. It was almost disappointing! They were toys to me, all of their attempts merely humorous. But you? You have put quite the dent in our number of soldiers. In fact, you may have stopped us entirely if it weren't for the most gracious donation of your military weapons to our _worthy cause_. You can expect for us to return them, oh..." Ivan pouted thoughtfully, counting on fingers with mumbles of Russian. He beamed. "Never! They were so useful in killing your own men that we decided we would keep them."

Alfred stared up at Ivan. His vision was blurred over with frustration; he'd never before wanted to strangle a man so much and possess so little ability to do so.

"Now, stand up, America. It's over. Why don't we end this like men?" Ivan extended a hand.

Alfred glared at it for a moment, though this pause felt like an eternity, and slowly extended his own hand to accept it. Ivan then easily lifted the nation to his feet. "Any last words, American?"

"..." Alfred took back his hand, his gaze not wavering from Ivan's face. "Actually... yes. Yes, I do have a few words for you, Russia."

Ivan lifted his pipe. "Make haste to say them, or you may just bore me to death. Yours, of course."

Alfred's knees threatened to buckle, though he felt a smile contradictorily encroach his features. "While in America..." His words fell slowly, softly. "You killed thousands of our soldiers and slaughtered millions of innocent families..."

"As well as in Germany, Lithuania, Sweden, and all of those other ex- nations..." Ivan smiled patiently. "Haven't we been over this?"

Alfred felt his blood churn. He forced his demeanor to remain calm as he trailed a hand towards his back pocket.

Ivan immediately took notice of this, making a noise of disapproval in his throat. "I should have known you had something else up your sleeve. It was far too good to be true when you took my hand in agreement." Ivan huffed. "Go ahead, American. Make me laugh."

Alfred slowly curled his fingers around the item in his rear pocket.

The air was tense between the pair.

Alfred pulled the item from his pocket and shakily directed it at Ivan, his breath hitching in his throat.

Ivan's brow set in grim recognition.

"Here in Soviet Russia..."

Alfred forced his voice to remain neutral.

He pulled the safety pin out of the grenade he held with a quivering finger.

Both Ivan and Alfred shared bittersweet smiles.

"American kills you."


End file.
